


Fifth time's the charm

by seasidhe (sidhedcv)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Falling In Love, Family Feels, Humor, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2020-09-06 06:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20286760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidhedcv/pseuds/seasidhe
Summary: The road to any kind of relationship is paved with good intentions, forgiveness, a lot of misunderstandings and way too many feelings. And this is especially true if it's Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy we're talking about.White honey - the perks of a traditional pureblood upbringingaka five times Narcissa Malfoy plays matchmaker.Sourwood honeyaka five times Harry is sure Draco Malfoy must be up to something.Orangeblossom honeyaka five times Harry falls a little bit more in love with Draco.





	1. white honey - the perks of a traditional pureblood upbringing

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language and I don't have a beta so I guess sorry for any possible mistakes?

It turns out Narcissa Malfoy takes her debts really fucking seriously. 

Harry doesn’t know if this is a Malfoy thing or a Black thing or possibly something that comes from both families - when he thinks about Sirius he guesses it’s probably both - but what he _does_ know is that Narcissa Malfoy _kindly requests Mr Potter most gracious presence in her home _and that_ she would be honored to have him as a guest for an afternoon tea._ And it’s really frankly terrifying how, in the midst of all those nice words, it absolutely sounds like an order.

At first Harry obviously doesn’t have the slightest intention to answer, let alone go. Then he talks with Andromeda and she explains how Narcissa is really trying to reconnect with her, so Harry figures: how bad could one tea be?

Really fucking bad. The answer is really, really fucking bad.

Malfoy Manor is (still) terrifying, the afternoon tea is terrifying, Narcissa Malfoy is terrifying - and the fact that she’s been smiling since the moment Harry arrived is what terrifies him the most.

“Mother? Is everything- Potter?”

And Harry would really like to answer to his own name. He’d really love to say anything. To do anything. Even one small nod of his head would be much appreciated.

But Draco Malfoy is standing right in front of him, in skinny black jeans and a motherfucking crop top, and Harry’s speech faculty is suddenly non-existent. It takes a long, awkward silence for Harry to realize he still hasn’t said anything at all.

“What?”

“Eloquent as ever, Potter,” Draco scoffs then turns towards Narcissa. Harry has the best view he could possibly ask of Draco’s arse and- well, fuck. It’s not a rational thought, not really, but it’s still a thought Harry can’t drive out of his mind, no matter how hard he tries.

“Draco, my dear, be nice to our guest,” Narcissa reprimands him with just the hint of a smile - one that Harry finds equally terrifying. He doesn’t really know how Draco manages to be so calm. It probably helps that Narcissa is his mother. But still.

“Yes, mother, of course. I hope you’re enjoying your stay, Potter. Mother, if you need anything I’ll be in the garden,” Draco bends down to kiss his mother with a fluid movement and the utmost grace and Harry experiences one again the weird knot in his stomach. He doesn’t like it. Not one bit.

“Doing some gardening?”

“Not today. I want to try and finish last week’s painting.”

“Oh yes, Draco dear, do that. It really was a splendid landscape. I’m looking forward to see the final result.”

“Oh, you paint?” Harry asks almost without thinking. He doesn’t really know why but he can’t quite put together those two thing. Draco Malfoy and painting. It’s weirdly attractive and once again Harry doesn’t know what to do with this particular piece of information that his mind is supplying.

“Yes, when I have some free time.”

“That sounds nice,” and it suddenly occurs to Harry that this is probably their first conversation (the firs in their entire life) that didn’t end in insults or jinxes. Malfoy glares at him with a weird look and then just leaves.

It’s been almost eight years, since the end of the war. Eight years and this is the first time they see each other. Well, other than the trials, of course.

Eight years later Draco Malfoy is even more beautiful than Harry remembered - and he doesn’t really want to focus on what the fuck does _that_ mean. Especially not right in front of Malfoy’s mother. Not when she’s looking at him with a poignant expression that should probably scared the shit out of him.

“He’s quite a catch, isn’t he?”

“Well, I guess painting is-”

“No, I meant he’s quite a catch in that outfit.”

Harry chokes on tea and Narcissa laughs - again, really fucking terrifying. “But yes, he does paint. One of the perks of a traditional pureblood upbringing, you see. And you should see his paintings, he’s really quite talented.”

Harry nods, holding his cup with probably too much strength, because he doesn’t really know what to say. Or how to react. He’s not even sure what exactly is happening. It almost seems like Narcissa is trying to- but no, that’s ridiculous, really.

“You should ask him to show you, the next time you come around for our tea.”

“… The next time?”

“Of course. How about next Sunday?”

Harry is left with one pressing question, above all the others: how does one say no to Narcissa Malfoy?

Strangely enough, the next time Harry sees Narcissa Malfoy is not because of their newly appointed _regular tea_.

“Oh, Mr Potter, how nice to see you here,” she sounds courtly as always and yet there’s a particular glint in her eyes that keeps nagging at Harry’s sixth sense. He’s a trained Auror and he trusts his sixth sense. Even if Hermione still snorts loudly every time he says he trusts his instincts.

The Ministry is throwing yet another ball - honestly Harry doesn’t even remember what for - and he’s obviously required to attend. Harry usually tries to find any excuse he can to avoid them, but this time he had no luck.

So he’s standing there, dressed in his slightly fancier Auror robes, right in front of Narcissa and Draco Malfoy - and he can’t seem to stop looking at his former schoolmate. Draco is dressed like a fucking dream, in the most elegant robes Harry has ever seen, looking like a goddamn model. And, once again, _fuck_.

“Potter,” Malfoy greets him in the usual manner but without any sneer, in a way that almost feels softer.

“Malfoy,” Harry manages to blurt out, hoping not to sound as thirsty as he suddenly feels.

“I’ll leave you boys to it,” Narcissa chirps, and just like that she’s gone, leaving them alone. Not that they’re actually alone, not when they’re surrounded by the whole Ministry. And still, Harry can’t help but feeling weird.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Potter?” Malfoy asks, elegantlysipping - how does one sip _elegantly, _for fuck’s sake? - from his champagne glass. “I think you should be able to escape this hell of a party if you wait for the right moment.”

Harry can’t help but look surprised after those words, whispered way too close to his ear. “How do you know I don’t wanna be here?”

“Oh, honestly. It doesn’t take a genius. And I should know, since my intellect is obviously superior.”

Harry doesn’t bother to say anything and when Draco understands he's not getting an actual answer, he rolls his eyes. “The Ministry organizes one of these events every few months and my mother is quite adamant we attend whenever we can. You know, with our reputations being positively ghastly and everything else. I've noticed you a few other times and the look on your face is quite telling, really."

"What look on my face?”

"This one, exactly," Malfoy snickers and Harry is about to ask him what the fuck does _that_ mean when other people suddenly join them.

"Minister Shacklebolt," Harry greets with the most convincing smile he can muster. Shacklebolt is with three other men and Harry doesn't have the slightest idea who they are. So, of course, they're all looking at him like they're waiting to be entertained. Harry can already feel his temper flaring - he doesn't like to be paraded around and it doesn't really matter that Shacklebolt doesn't actually _want_ to do that.

“Minister. How delightful to see you," Malfoy beams with a gracious smile.

“Draco,” Shacklebolt answers with a nod and Harry is left with exactly 3.5 seconds to wonder since when they’re on first name basis. A handful of seconds and then, just as usual, he’ll have to go through a long ass conversation with a shitton of people he doesn’t even know - and he’ll end up embarrassing himself and Shacklebolt and the whole Auror department because Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived To Be Paraded Around can’t be social enough to make a good impression-

“Mr Bobbin, I must say: the public reaction to the bill you proposed is positively medieval.”

And then, out of nowhere, Draco Malfoy’s voice cuts through all the anxiety and pressure that were starting to threaten Harry’s stability. He doesn’t even understand exactly how this is happening, but Malfoy manages to turn a potential disaster in an absolutely brilliant conversation. He engages the other three men - and they seem delighted by the fact that Draco knows who they are and what they do to such an extent -, he manages to steer Harry into the conversation so in such a perfect way that he only has to nods a few times and yet his role in the conversation seems to be greatly appreciated.

“That was absolutely brilliant,” Harry finds himself whispering a few minutes later, eyes fixed on Draco even from the other side of the room. He’s unable to focus on anything else other than the way Draco’s positively glowing under the attention. If Harry knows him just a tiny bit - and he’s pretty sure stalking someone for a whole year must mean something -, Draco’s thriving under this particular challenge.

"Of course it was brilliant. My son has been training since he was a child to be able to successfully tread in both idle and serious conversations. Another perk of a traditional pureblood upbringing," Narcissa Malfoy whispers near his ear and Harry can feel his face heating up. He doesn’t even bother to wonder where she came from or how she knows exactly what he was thinking.

"A most useful perk too, don't you think? Something one would look for in a future partner. Especially one who is often required to attend these kind of parties."

There's a voice in Harry's mind chanting _what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck_. Narcissa Malfoy's kind smile is more terrifying than ever.

No one could possibly blame Harry if the next time the Ministry is throwing a ball it takes a lot less work to convince him. Hermione looks at him like he’s a new puzzle to be solved and Ron just shrugs. Harry doesn’t really want to overthink this, so he asks Luna to accompany him and that’s it.

A second ball in less than three months and Harry is there - the Minister is almost shocked and Robards asks him, with a concerned look on his face, if Harry needs to take a few days off work.

(And it’s the first time since he became an Auror that anyone tries to tell Harry to just stop and rest for a moment. It’s the first time in eight years that there isn’t someone trying to force Harry to do things, trying to force him to do interviews or attend some high-end event. The first time in five years and Harry doesn’t think it should be like this. At all.)

A second ball in less than three months. Harry is attending. Draco Malfoy looks like Merlin’s second coming. And that last thing has nothing to do with Harry’s presence. Nothing at all, that’s completely ridiculous.

There’s a part of him that keeps constantly trying to focus on why is he doing all of these things. Why is he following Malfoy around - in a complete different way from how Harry followed him around during their sixth year in Hogwarts. At least that’s what he thinks - he’s pretty sure Hermione would have something to say about this, about the true reason he followed Malfoy in school. She always has something to say. She always had.

But the fact is, Harry doesn’t want to know. Harry doesn’t want to think about the how and the why of this particular thing. Maybe he’s following Malfoy because his guts is telling him there’s something wrong. Maybe he’s following Malfoy because after eight years of doing what he’s told to, _following Malfoy_ is something Harry can do for himself. And it’s not like he’s doing something wrong, is it? He’s just- in the same place as Malfoy appears to be. Nothing wrong with that.

So Harry shushes his mind, locks the questions out of his brain and just keeps on doing what he’s doing. Which, at the moment, consists in watching Draco dancing without any effort - and, you know what? Fuck him - and talking with a lot of people Harry doesn’t even know.

“Una conversazione illuminante, dottore, davvero,” Draco sounds amazing even though Harry has no clue what he’s saying. Or who is he talking to. “Sarei felice di continuarla in futuro. E sarei felice di condividere con lei i miei appunti sull’uso di questo particolare ingrediente nelle pozioni.”

Harry thinks he could just go on watching Draco Malfoy for the rest of his entire night - and it’s in that exact moment that Narcissa Malfoy makes her way through the crowd and towards him. She looks elegant and beautiful and scary, as usual, and the smile she’s sporting - when she looks between Harry and her son - tells him that she’s definitely up to something. Judging from their past interactions, Harry has a pretty good idea of what’s going to happen right now.

“He’s proficient in three different languages, you know. Pureblood upbringing, as usual. Lucius started teaching him French the day he was born. It was quite adorable, really, hearing those two chat in French every time they had the occasion. Draco absolutely loved that. I guess he thought it was something that brought he and his father together. Then, of course, we hired a private tutor for German before we decided against sending Draco to Durmstrang. Quite a shame that my Draco didn’t need all those lessons. But he’s still skilled, you see.”

Harry nods politely and tries to keep a silent snort to himself - he remembers Draco talking about how his mother didn’t want him so far away from her and from what he knows about Narcissa Malfoy, Harry is pretty sure there’s something entirely different behind that particular “_we decided”._

There’s a part of him that can’t help but admire this woman. It’s definitely not something he would’ve thought possible, admiring Narcissa Malfoy. And yet, she’s resourceful and strong and she clearly gets what she wants. She reminds him of Molly. She reminds him of what everybody told him about his own mother.

“He also speaks perfect Italian, as you just have heard. We have a summer residence in Liguria and Draco also used to spend quite some time with Blaise Zabini and his mother during summer.”

Harry nods again, eyes fixed on Draco as he waltzes through the crowd, looking like he really _belongs_ there. Unlike Harry - this is most definitely not his place.

“So that makes it three different languages other than English and Latin, of course, like every good wizard or witch.”

“Of course,” Harry manages to nods while a voice in his head keeps asking why the fuck would someone be proficient in fucking Latin. 

It’s easier to focus on this rather than the fact that, apparently, Draco Malfoy is groomed to be practically perfect in every way.

Harry goes to Malfoy Manor every other week to have his afternoon tea with Narcissa Malfoy and the whole experience is just as scary as it was the first time.

Draco isn’t there, most of the time. Harry hasn’t seen him since the last Ministry party and he doesn’t really know why. 

(He doesn’t really know why he cares. He doesn’t really know why he’d like to see Draco. He doesn’t really want to know.)

Mostly, he doesn’t know how to ask Narcissa without sounding too eager - or having to explain why he cares.

She talks about her son constantly and never mentions why Harry never sees him, not once time. Harry starts wondering if something bad happened. It takes him a few weeks to muster enough courage to ask the damn question.

“Mrs Malfoy?”

“You should really call me _Narcissa_, Harry dear,” she sips elegantly from her cup and her eyes shine like she already knows what he’s going to ask. And honestly? That’s probably true.

“I was wondering… is Mal- Draco okay? Is Draco okay?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” she smiles triumphantly and Harry is suddenly very glad he had to deal with Voldemort and not Narcissa Malfoy. He’s not sure he would’ve won. “Yes, of course, Draco is perfectly fine. It’s just that he has this silly idea- he doesn’t want to bother you, you see.”

“But this is his home,” Harry replies, almost puzzled. It’s a strange thought, Malfoy being concerned about someone other than himself. Malfoy being concerned about _him_.

“Yes, that’s quite right,” Narcissa is smiling again but this time it’s almost a soft smile. “But Draco is a doting son. He knows how important _this_ is for me and he’s afraid the rather… intense history you share could ruin it somehow.”

Harry doesn’t answer right away, too busy focusing on what he just learned. It doesn’t come as a surprise, not really. If he looks behind the whole though act Malfoy hid behind while in Hogwarts, it’s not difficult to see the _doting son. _A son who would’ve done anything for his family.

“I can’t say I blame him for considering this possibility. I’m quite aware of what happened between you two. I love my son more than anything in the whole world but I’m not too proud to admit he made his fair share of mistakes. We all did.”

“You all did,” Harry replies quietly, trying to convey everything he’s feeling right now. “And I won’t pretend those things didn’t happen. But at the same time, the _war_ happened. It’s hard to look back at the issues me and Draco had and consider them at the same level of Voldemort trying to kill me and everyone I loved.”

Narcissa flinches but doesn’t react in any other way to that name. Instead, she smiles kindly and brushes her hand against Harry’s.

“I’m glad you feel this way, dear. Shall we go and find Draco, then?”

“Find Draco?”

“Yes, find Draco. So you can tell him he doesn’t have to hide anymore. It’s quite a tiresome matter, frankly”

A few seconds later they’re strolling through the Manor and Harry doesn’t even have enough time to consider what’s happening. It’s pretty clear that Narcissa always gets what she wants - and, judging from what happens every time Molly asks something, Harry isn’t really equipped to stop a strong-headed mother. An evil Dark Lord, yes. A mother? Not so much.

Harry doesn’t know where exactly Malfoy is but when they get to the gardens it becomes suddenly very clear that this is going to be difficult. Malfoy Manor is huge and the gardens are right up to the challenge. Narcissa shows him the infamous peacocks, the rose bushes and all the flowerbeds - _Draco loves to garden with me and he’s so good with plants._ She leads him to a huge swimming pool set into the ground and she explains how this is one small part of the many renovations Draco oversaw in the last few years. Her eyes gleams with mirth when she points at an enormous inflatable flamingo, shocking pink and filled with glitter, that floats into the water.

“Draco bought it,” and Harry would like to point out that this is pretty obvious - he doesn’t really picture Lucius Malfoy going into a Muggle shop to buy that. “The pool was his idea, too. I never thought- the gardens are meant to be purely decorative. A pool in a traditional pureblood home is most unbecoming. So this is all very exciting, you see.”

And Harry can see it, really. It’s pretty clear that Narcissa Malfoy appreciate this new direction of her life. Hell, it’s pretty clear Draco was definitely on board too, since everything Harry just saw was apparently his idea. He can’t help but wonder what Lucius Malfoy would think about _this_ \- if he already knows or if he’ll find out the moment he’s back from Azkaban. Harry almost hopes to be there for the moment he’ll find out: the reaction should be priceless.

“Oh, I think I know where Draco is. He’s probably with the horses.”

“And of course you have horses.”

And sure enough, Draco is where Narcissa thought he would be. He’s galloping on a horse, laughing freely in a way Harry has never ever heard him laugh. And he’s not alone.

“Come on, Nott, race you to the pond,” Harry hears him say and has a few second to wonder who the fuck has a fucking pond in their garden, before Draco notices them.

“Mother! Is everything okay?” Draco asks with sudden concern in his voice, dismounting the horse and thanking Theodore Nott with a smile when he steps up and take the horse’s reins. A smile just because Nott did something anyone else would have done. Harry mentally grimaces. _I would’ve done it too._

“Yes, my dear, of course,” Narcissa smiles and greets her son with a kiss on his cheek - Harry notices the way Draco immediately takes her in his arm and can’t help but smile. How could anyone not see the doting son? It’s nice and kind of adorable at the same time.

“I thought you were having tea.”

“We were. But while we were talking, dear Harry told me how long it has been since you two last saw each other and how sad he was,” Narcissa completely ignores Harry’s attempt to explain _it wasn’t like that, it’s not like he cares about what Malfoy bloody does in his free time - _and it takes Harry a few moments to forget the weirdly struck look in Malfoy’s eyes. It’s only there for a few seconds, though, and suddenly Draco is back to his usual self.

“Yes, mother, I can imagine how concerned with my well being _dear Harry _was. Well, Potter, as you see there’s nothing to worry about. If that would be all, I think I’ll go back to my horse.”

“You don’t bother me, Malfoy,” Harry blurts out the second Malfoy turns away. There’s an awkward silence between them but the look in Draco’s eyes is somehow relieved. “And try not to break your arm, this time.”

“Hilarious, Potter,” Malfoy drawls back without any sneer to his voice. And there it is, a smile, this time just for Harry - and it’s dumb and weird and absolutely foolish but Harry’s heart is beating way faster than it should.

Narcissa is smiling widely as they watch Draco and Nott resume their race - and if Harry’s look lingers a little bit too much on Malfoy, is obviously the horse’s fault. It’s not like he’s used to see something like this.

“He’s a skilled equestrian, you know. Another-”

“Let me guess, perks of a pureblood upbringing?”

“Quite right.”

The next time Harry and Narcissa have tea, Draco is right there. It’s the fifth time Harry sees him after the war, after eight years of _nothing, _and everything is so weird Harry doesn’t even know where to start.

They’re chatting quietly - Narcissa reminiscing about the one time she and Sirius ran away from a family dinner and got into trouble - when Draco appears. Harry knows him well enough tonotice the faint trace of anxiousness in his eyes.

(And no, Harry doesn’t really want to think about how he doesn’t know Draco _at all_ \- that the only reason he’s able to understand something like that it’s because of what Hermione would call his _tendency to obsess over Malfoy_. He doesn’t want to think about this, no, thank you very much.)

Draco kisses his mother’s cheek, like he always does, and nods towards Harry. “Are you in a hurry, my darling?” Narcissa asks, gently brushing a blonde stray lock behind her son’s ear.

“Not really, Mother, I’ve already done everything I had to do today.”

“I’d love to hear you play something, then, if you don’t mind. It’s been so long and I’m sure Harry would love it too.”

“Piano or violin?”

“I'd be happy to hear you play both,” Narcissa smiles again and then turns towards Harry, shooting him a particularly poignant look. “What do you say, Harry dear?”

“Uhm,” they're both looking at him, somehow expectantly, and Harry feels once again like he's a child. He defeated a Dark Lord but he's reduced to this state by the Malfoys, for Merlin's sake. “Piano?”

“Let’s got with the piano, then,” Malfoy nods, making his way to the huge piano waiting in the right corner of the sitting room. He looks like a dream, honestly, and it doesn't have anything to do with Harry's complicated feelings towards Draco Malfoy, men and life in general. 

He looks like a dream, like someone straight from a fairytale. And that doesn’t mean anything at all. Harry is just stating the obvious.

Narcissa almost gasps when her son finally starts playing and, to be honest, Harry really gets her. Draco's fingers fly quick and light on the piano and, while Malfoy's obviously not a professional, Harry has never heard anything like that.

There's a reverent silence in the room and neither of them wants to be the one who breaks it.

Draco keeps on playing, switching between more cheerful and more somber pieces, and for the first time in years - in what feels like years but he's pretty sure it's more like his entire existence - Harry feels at peace. He sits there, right next to Narcissa, still dressed in his Auror robes, and he feels nothing but peace.

For the first time in years there isn't any kind of trouble on his mind. There isn't danger, there isn't war, there isn't constant vigilance. For the first time in years he doesn't feel like the Chosen One, he doesn't feel like Auror of the Month, he doesn't feel like the sole purpose in his life is to fight - against someone, to protect someone, to survive.

There isn't anything but the sound of the music, the faint smile on Draco's lips and the way Narcissa is holding Harry's hand.

“That was- amazing, Malfoy. Amazing, really.”

“… Thank you,” Malfoy looks almost taken back by the compliment - and Harry doesn't really get why. It most definitely isn't the first time someone compliments him. 

“Draco also has a lovely voice, Harry,” Narcissa whispers right next to him and his mind doesn't even have to focus on her to complete this last sentence. One of the perks of a pureblood upbringing, obviously.

And it’s crazy, really, everything that’s happening is just plain crazy. Is there anything Draco doesn’t know how to do? And, more importantly, why did Harry dreamt about Draco singing just the night before? What the fuck is his brain trying to tell him?

“When he was younger he used to sing for us. He absolutely adored to perform for us. Singing, dancing and-”

“Mother, what are you _doing_?” Draco screeches, almost panicking, eyes wide with a look Harry can't help but find hilarious. “What are you talking about? _Why_ are you talking about this?”

“I'm merely praising my darling son, obviously. You always love to be praised.”

Narcissa flashes her usual scaring smile and Draco groans in a way that makes Harry snicker loudly. She might very well be his favorite person at the moment. Anyone capable of disrupting Malfoy’s perfect appearance would be, honestly.

“You’re a complete menace. I shouldn’t leave you alone with anyone. And you- don't humor her, Potter!”

“She’s my gracious host, I’m morally obliged to humor her. Also it’s really funny to see you like this,” Harry solemnly nods while Draco groans with utter desperation and slumps against the piano. “Also I’d really like to hear you sing.”

“... You would?”

“Splendid! It’s been simply too much, my darling, and since dear Harry would also love to hear you sing I think we should-” Narcissa doesn’t even bother to pretend this isn’t exactly what she had in mind - and she surely doesn’t bother to stop talking, not even when Draco tries to talk over her.

“Mother!”

“-wait until your father gets back and then organize something! Oh, I can just picture how happy he’ll be, positively glowing! It’s exactly what he needs after-”

There’s a sudden silence, when both Narcissa and Draco turn to face Harry. Harry, who has just felt his face go paler.

It’s not like this is the first time he thinks about Lucius Malfoy since the end of the war. Harry testified on Draco and Narcissa’s behalf but testified against Lucius Malfoy as well. Trying to save his own family in the end wasn’t enough to forget everything he did in the past and Harry hadn’t felt sorry for a minute.

It’s not the first time he thinks about Lucius Malfoy and his stay in Azkaban - he had been sentenced to eight years’ imprisonment and, honestly? For the first time in years Harry actually thought that was a fair decision. Eight years in the worst prison he could think of, eight years to pay for everything he did and helped Voldemort do. Harry had been quite satisfied with that sentence.

It’s not the first time he thinks about Lucius Malfoy, but this is the first time he thinks about Lucius Malfoy as Draco’s _father_. As Narcissa’s _husband_. It’s the first time since these meetings started that his mind actually connects the two things. Lucius Malfoy and his family.

Narcissa’s hopeful smile when she talks about Lucius’ return. Draco’s soft look while his mother keeps talking. They’re the family of a man who caused pain and suffering to Harry’s whole family, to Harry’s friends. His parents, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred, the whole Weasley family. And Harry’s right there with Lucius Malfoy’s family, cozying up to them.

And whatever is going on with Draco? Feeling so comfortable around Narcissa was bad enough, but the way he’s starting to feel around Draco Malfoy is just plain awful. It doesn’t matter how different Malfoy is able to _look_, it doesn’t matter how good he is at pretending he’s this whole new person. Harry has known him for seven years and knows exactly the kind of person he is. There’s no way he’s actually changed. People don’t change. Draco Malfoy can’t change.

What would everybody think about this? What would his family think about this? Would they hate him? Would they think he’s disrespecting them? This isn’t what he’s expected to do. This is more than just being gracious to the losing side. _This isn’t what he’s expected to do, this isn’t what the world wants him to do, this isn’t what he should do, this isn’t what he’s supposed to do_.

It’s so hard to reconcile everything that is going on in his mind. So hard that his mind just gives up in the process. 

“... I’m sorry, I- I have to go. I have to go.”

“Harry-”

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore.”

Harry catches a glimpse of Draco’s eyes and the things he sees behind them haunt him for the following months.


	2. sourwood honey - draco malfoy must be up to something

After the debacle that is that last tea together, Harry keeps his life between work and the isolation of his house. He manages to avoid Draco and he manages to send back the first two owls Narcissa tries to send him. After the first two, she just stops trying.

Andromeda asks him if everything’s okay but doesn’t press the subject when she understands he doesn’t really want to talk about it. And it’s pretty clear, to be honest, that he doesn’t want to talk.

Even Ron and Hermione steer clear of him, to the best of their abilities - it’s not the first time since the end of the war Harry needs some time alone, and they both learned to accept that.

It takes Harry some time before he can manage to understand that Narcissa Malfoy deserves at least some explanation.

Harry goes back to the Manor for the first time in order to explain himself. He somehow does, even if he doesn’t go into the details of what exactly happened in his mind the last time. Narcissa seems to understand, even though Harry immediately spots a hint of disappointment in her eyes.

“What about Draco?” she asks, while Harry does his best not to think about the implications of that particular question.

“You don’t have to worry, I’ll be civil with him.”

Narcissa bows her head, defeated, and Harry tries to squash down all the bad feelings that rumble inside his chest.

“We could still have tea together, if you think that’d be possible. Not every week, I realize now that I asked too much of you. Just a few times, nothing more. Whenever you want.”

“I’d like that,” Harry smiles briefly, because he’d _really _like that. Strangely enough, as terrifying as she is, Harry really likes Narcissa Malfoy. And he owes her. And having tea just a few times isn’t bad, is it? It’s not like he’s going to see Malfoy and harbor more complicated feelings. He already went down that road and look where it took him.

So they have tea together and then Narcissa excuses herself, leaving Harry to find his way out of the Manor.

“Potter?”

“Malfoy. I was just going-”

“Yes, I know. You don’t want to stay here longer than necessary. And you certainly don’t want to stay anywhere near me, you made that _abundantly_ clear.”

“Look, Malfoy-”

“No, don’t bother. I don’t need an explanation, you don’t _owe _me an explanation. This is exactly why I tried to stay away from you, because I didn’t want what you feel about me to ruin-”

“I don’t feel anything about you, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry interrupts him, angrier than he intended to. “I don’t feel comfortable near you, not after everything you did. Your mother has nothing to do with this. And I don’t feel _anything_ about you.”

“You know what, Potter? I like to think that I grew up. I imagine this doesn’t really matter to you and I can’t really be upset about it, can I? I was horrible in school. I understand why you feel like you don’t want to be near me. But I won’t spend the rest of my life apologizing for the things I did and said when I was a kid. I won’t spend the rest of my life explaining that I’m not a monster, that my mistakes have roots in my whole childhood, that I was a stupid kid who didn’t know any better. Who didn't know anything else. I apologized to everyone, I helped rebuild Hogwarts, I served the term of my temporary house arrest without complaining because _it was the right thing to do. _I’m going to live the rest of my life with the reminder that my family decided I was expendable to the cause _etched_ on my arm and I think this is enough punishment. I won’t go around cowering for the rest of my life. I won’t do it.”

Harry’s heart is beating so fast in his chest he’s almost afraid Malfoy can hear it. He doesn’t know what to do - or what to think or what to feel, and the things he has inside are terribly loud. Everything Malfoy said just _makes_ _sense_. Everything Malfoy said sounds right and fair and Harry understands, really, he does understand. Malfoy is looking at him, slightly flushed and silent, like he’s hanging on whatever Harry will say - and there’s hope, behind his eyes, Harry can see it.

And yet there’s this thing, right inside his chest, that pulls and stretches and holds him - this thing that tells him _don’t trust him, just go away, it’ll be easier, you can’t trust him, you can’t trust anyone, especially not Malfoy._

“Yo can do whatever you want, Malfoy, I don’t really care.”

He leaves, once again, trying to erase Malfoy’s hurt look from his mind.

The second time Harry returns to have tea, Narcissa is adamant he leaves sooner than usual. They chat for quite some time and Harry can’t help but notice the way she keeps fidgeting with one of her rings - _most unbecoming for a pureblood lady_ \- and the way she keeps glancing at the antique grandfather clock on the other side of the room.

“Do you want me to go?”

“Nonsense, my dear boy, I’m so glad to have you here,” Narcissa goes for her usual charming smile but her gaze falls once again on the clock. Harry takes that as his cue to leave.

“Now that I think about it, I need to be somewhere else-”

“Of course, of course! Let me walk you to the door!” Harry doesn’t even have the time to point out that she has _never_ showed him our, let alone walked him to the door.

“… Narcissa?” Narcissa pales slightly as the familiar voice grows heated. “You didn’t tell me we had _guests_.”

Harry recognized the voice the minute he heard it say Narcissa’s name - but even if he hadn’t, the way Lucius Malfoy just sneered the word _guests_ would have been quite telling.

So this is why Narcissa wanted him to leave.

“I was just leaving,” Harry replies without even looking at the man - he doesn't really want to, if he's being completely honest. Especially not after what he just heard.

“Yes, I believe that would be preferable for all parts involved,” Lucius Malfoy replies stiffly.

“I can find the way out on my own.”

Except it turns out he definitely cannot. The Manor is even bigger than he remembered and every hallway looks the same if you're not been living in the place for at least your last ten years. After what feels like hours of wandering, Harry decides it's best if he just asks for help - not for his pride, maybe, but if that takes him out of the Manor he'll gladly accept the loss. The problem is, he doesn't have the slightest idea where the fuck he is now or how the fuck to go back from where he came.

It’s in that exact moment Harry hears two familiar voices - so, naturally, he decides to hide behind the corner, just hidden enough for him to be able to peek.

Lucius Malfoy is positively fuming, pacing down the corridor, while an unimpressed looking Draco Malfoy stands before him.

“How _dares_ he? I can barely understand your mother thinking this might be the right thing to do, but how dares he come into our home-”

“You mean the home we still have because of him?” Draco drawls back in a way that almost makes Harry loose his balance.

“Yes, well. That was a minor inconvenience.”

“Talk about _minor_ inconvenience.”

“Don't talk to me like that, I am your father and I demand respect. I thought you learned that lesson quite some time ago,” Lucius sounds every bit the angry and demanding man Harry knew in the past but the true surprise is something entirely different. Harry remembers quite well the way Draco used to react to those intimidations - quiet, subdued, silent - and this? The way he stands proud and tall right in front of his father? This is something completely different.

“You know what, father? I've learned something in the past few years. I don't owe you _anything_. I don't owe you respect just because you're my father. You have to earn my respect just like I have to earn yours, and you have done absolutely nothing in order to earn it.”

“You lived under my roof for your entire life, I fed you and I clothed you and-”

“You did what you were supposed to do as a parent. Congratulations. I worked my ass off to keep our home, while you were rotting in Azkaban for the stupid fucking things you did. I’m managing our whole fortune because you can’t touch a single knut, so I’d watch my mouth if I were you.” Draco’s voice is dripping in sarcasm. “And you know who else lived under this roof? _Voldemort_. For two whole years since I was sixteen years old.”

“That has nothing-”

“That's the truth, father! Everything I did, everything Mother did was for you! Because we loved you and we trusted you and we _believed_ you knew better than anybody else!”

Even Lucius seems taken aback from Draco’s sudden outburst. The older man doesn’t seem so confident as before - not when he steps back and looks at his son with something Harry can’t really explain behind his eyes.

“You are my father and I love you. I'll always love you. I came to visit you while you were in Azkaban, even though I was still mad at you, because it was the right thing to do. Because you didn't deserve to be abandoned by your only son. I'll always love you, but that doesn't mean I forgive you. You're back, now, and you're gonna have to step it up if you want us to have _any_ kind of relationship at all.”

Draco is quiet, now, and somehow that makes everything even worse. He sounds quiet and sad and resolved at the same time. Harry has never heard him like this, has never seen that look in his eyes. And he doesn’t pretend to understand _everything - _he doesn’t at all, their situations don’t compare in the slightest way - but at the same time he _does_ know how difficult it is for a son to accept his father isn’t the perfect human being he thought he was.

“So if your wife decides to invite a whole muggle’s neighborhood for dinner, you’ll smile and nod and _let_ her. The next time you see Harry Potter you _will_ behave like a decent human being, because he has done nothing but help us and you, more than anyone, should be grateful. And you becoming a better person also means I won't tolerate any hate towards towards muggles and half-bloods. I had enough of that shit during my whole life and look where it got us.”

“Draco,” Lucius tries to intervene and his voice sounds so _broken_ Harry doesn't really know what to think. It's the first time in his whole life he thinks of Lucius Malfoy as a human being and not as an enemy or a danger. He doesn't look like either of those things, right now. He looks like a father who fucked up and is realizing only now how _much_ he really fucked up.

“Earn my respect, father. Because you sure as hell didn't when you pushed me into a war I didn't want to fight. You didn't when I had to take that fucking mark to protect my family from _your_ mistakes.”

Draco leaves, after that last sentence, and Lucius Malfoy leaves as well, looking more haunted than Harry would've care to notice. He almost jumps when he feels a hand on his shoulder and certainly doesn't relax when he turns to find Narcissa, right behind him. She doesn't seem angry, though, so Harry figures he's not in too much trouble.

“Lucius hasn't always been like he was when you first met him. I'm not going to justify what he did, believe me. But he was a completely different person before Draco's second year. A doting father, a loving husband. Maybe I'm just being naive but I can't help but hope he'll go back to what he was,” Narcissa sounds thoughtful and sad and Harry doesn't know what to say. “I think it's better if I show you the exit, now.”

But Harry can't stop thinking about what Narcissa just said. _He was a completely different person before Draco's second year. _He doesn't want to think about this, doesn't want to try and find an explanation for the awful man he knows - but his instincts tell him there's something there. Something in the way Draco and Narcissa still love him, something in the way they're both suffering and yet resolved to try and make Lucius Malfoy a better person.

Do people change? Is it possible for Lucius Malfoy to change? And if it's possible for Lucius Malfoy, why shouldn't it be possible for Draco?

Harry is more confused than ever - and the fact that he keeps dreaming about Draco Malfoy doesn't help at all.

“Is everything okay?” Harry just _has_ to ask, because Narcissa is looking a bit unfocused and it’s the first time she has this look on her face - and if something is happening, Harry just _has_ to know. “Did something happen?”

“Oh- nothing you need to worry about, dear.”

“Are you sure?” he insists, because he’s really concerned - not because he has this spasmodic need to know if something happened to Draco. Of course not. He just wants to be helpful. And his damn curiosity doesn’t help at all.

“Well, you see… Draco is feeling, one could say, a bit under the weather.”

“Has he gone to St. Mungo?”

“Oh, no, no. His… condition isn’t strictly physical. He was seeing someone, you see. I always thought it wouldn’t last, I definitely did not like his choice of partner. But Draco seemed to be fairly content and I didn’t want to see him unhappy so I didn’t say anything. And now he’s positively heartbroken.”

“… Someone _dumped_ him?”

“Yes, exactly. And with a letter, of all things. Draco doesn't want to talk about it, of course, but I can see his pain. I’m his mother, after all.”

When Harry is about to leave, he can’t help but notice a slightly open door and known voices coming from the adjacent room. And it’s not like he’s snooping, not at all. He just wants to make sure everything’s okay. That’s it.

“How are you holding up, babe?” Pansy asks with a smile and a weird voice, almost like she’s making fun of him, that would probably make anyone sneer back. Draco, however, doesn’t sneer. At all.

He smiles - softly, Harry notices - and hugs her and he looks the most vulnerable Harry has ever seen him.

“Like fucking shit, Pans.”

“Well, you shouldn’t. Plenty of fishes in the sea and all that. You’ll find someone new in no time.”

“But he’ll be a replacement. I’m not sure I see the point in finding a replacement. It’s not like it’s gonna work out for me.”

“Okay then maybe just wait a bit. Have some fun and when it won’t feel like a replacement you-”

“But it’ll always feel like a replacement.”

“Surely he wasn’t that-” Parkinson suddenly stops talking and for one moment Harry’s almost sure she sees him standing right outside of the room. But her eyes are fixed on Malfoy and Malfoy looks... wretched.

“No,” she whispers softly and Malfoy lets out a strangled noise and a humorless laugh. Harry doesn’t understand what the fuck is happening.

“How could you possibly still be in love with _him_? After everything that happened? After the way he treated you! After-”

“You think I don’t know that? You think I want this? It’s not my fault, it’s not like I actively decided to fall in love with _him_ when I was fucking eleven and never forget him. It’s not like I decided to fall in love with the _one_ man who would never look at me that way.”

The room is completely still after Draco’s words and Harry still doesn’t know what to think.

“Fuck,” Draco lets out a shaky breath and an even shakier laugh. “I’m a complete and utter joke. So much for _Malfoys don’t show weakness_. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not a joke. I’m sorry, love, I shouldn’t have. I know it’s not your fault. I know.”

“It’s okay, Pans. It’s bound to go away at some point, isn’t it?”

“Of course. But in the meantime, I’ve got you.”

“What’s this?” Draco asks with an annoyed voice but a glint in his eyes - and Harry wonders when exactly did he became the local expert on what the subtle details in Draco’s face mean. Hermione would probably tell him it’s because he’s a bit of a stalker. Harry would obviously deny it and now he almost scoff at the thought. _Stalking, him!_ as he hides behind the door, still looking at what is happening inside the room. _Insane_.

“I brought alcohol, chocolate and I’m going to call some company. Millie, Daphne and Astoria. That’s exactly what you need to feel better.”

“Well, at least the part about chocolate sounds good.”

“Fuck you.”

“Love you too.”

The next time Harry goes to the Manor, there is definitely something going on. It’s later than usual, for once, and he still doesn’t know why since Narcissa didn’t bother with any explanation.

It’s later than usual and Narcissa’s eyes gleams with the same mischief Harry was used to see during their first meetings.

“I think Draco is feeling a little bit better.”

“Oh, is he?”

“Yes, I would imagine so. He organized something of a… meeting with some of his friends.”

A meeting with Draco’s friends is exactly what Harry’s instincts need to start screaming Draco Malfoy Is Probably Up to Something. He doesn’t know if Narcissa knows that, doesn’t know what she knows. The only thing he does know is that it’s better if he, as an Auror, checks on Malfoy. It’s his duty, after all.

And that’s why he finds himself going to the west wing of the Manor, hidden under his invisibility cloak - the one he always brings with him, just in case.

(He can almost hear Hermione quip something like _just in case you need to stalk Malfoy? _but he chooses to ignore her voice in his head_._)

He can feel the casted silencing spell as soon as he walks through it without disrupting it. Silencing spells sound pretty shady, honestly, even Hermione would have to agree. Or maybe she’d tell him that maybe Draco just wanted some privacy from his parents. It doesn’t matter now, not when Harry comes closer to the source of the noise he can suddenly hear.

He’s this close to find out what Draco Malfoy is up to - this close to find the proof he need to stop tormenting himself about the way he acted. If Draco is actually up to something, it means that Harry didn’t do anything wrong. It means that he was right when he tried to distance himself front the Malfoys, it means he was right when he told Draco he didn’t care. He just has to find some proof that he wasn’t wrong.

“Everyone ready for today’s meeting?”

Malfoy’s voice drawls familiarly and Harry can’t help but feel a little bit hopeful - and a little bit saddened - hearing those words. There’s no way a _meeting _organized by a former Death Eater could mean any good. And, as he notices when taking in the rest of the room they’re in, anywhere he looks he sees other Slytherins.

It doesn’t look like a meeting, though. There’s a whole lot of junk food and alcohol, there’s music - Muggle music, Harry realizes - and they’re all dressed like they’re going to a party. Knowing Slytherins - and their reputation as party people -, this probably is a party. But it doesn’t explain Malfoy’s words and it certainly doesn’t give Harry any proofs of their illegal activities.

“I demand compensation!” Blaise Zabini shouts from the other end of the room, clearly looking at Draco. “I always bring all the food and it’s not fair!”

“Though shit, Zabini,” Parkinson deadpans without even looking at him. “I always bring all the alcohol and you don’t hear me complain.”

“And you’re always here in my home and you don’t hear me complain,” Draco quips right after her. Harry recognize Theodore Nott laughing right next to Malfoy - he also recognize the two Greengrass sisters, Bulstrode and a few more Slytherins.

“Alright, fine. I despise you all.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual, Blaise!”

Malfoy whispers something to Nott, making him laugh ever more - and Harry doesn’t like it one bit. And it isn’t because Harry’s jealous, fuck no. It’s just because he’s sure Malfoy is plotting something and he’s even more convinced of it when he sees him whispering things to other guys. Fuck.

“What are we doing about the bulling?” Bulstrode asks abruptly and everyone immediately turn towards Draco.

“I’ve already talked to McGonagall about it. She said she’s doing what she can as Headmistress, but of course it’s a complex problem. I also talked to Professor Longbottom and I have his word that he’s going to look out for- mistreated Slytherins. Especially those in their first years.”

Everyone nods almost somberly and Harry finds it difficult to do anything than just _watch_. He’s not used to this. Not used to Slytherins caring about other people - even if they’re other Slytherins. He doesn’t exactly know if he just didn’t notice in school or if it’s a more recent development but something tells him that it’s far more likely that he didn’t want to see this part.

He almost doesn’t want to see it now.

“What about your parents, Theo?”

“Do we need to have more words with them?”

“No, they’re getting better. Well, better as in my father doesn’t talk to me anymore.”

“I’ve found that it’s better when they don't talk to me,” Parkinson intervenes with a bitter smile.

“You need to remember what I always tell you. None of our parents has the rights to treat us like this. Not after what they put us through,” Draco sounds very sure but Harry notices the shadow behind his eyes - almost like there's a sadness there, a sadness that never goes away. “We need to be better but _fuck_ if they need to be better too. They need to be decent parents. And decent parents don’t sacrifice their kids to a cause. Decent parents care for their children.”

“Yeah but I mean, our parents weren’t as fucked up as yours,” one of the Greengrasses tries to argue.

“That’s not true. Okay, well, maybe your father didn’t fucked up so royally that you were forced to become a fucking child soldier,” Harry doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with their sense of humor because the whole room is now laughing and he doesn’t find it funny at all. “But it doesn’t mean that they didn’t forced their stupid beliefs upon you. It doesn’t mean that you aren’t paying for their errors. They should’ve known better. They should’ve acted better.”

Draco and Astoria are now holding hands and everyone can see that what he just said is effecting her. Draco just... comforted someone. He helped someone. This is something completely different from what Harry is used to - from what he used to see in school, from the way he always thought about Draco Malfoy.

And this is exactly what he didn’t need to see.

“If you need anything, just ask. We’re here for you, even if you simply want someone to _hear_ you.”

Harry slips out of the room with his own heart in such a turmoil that, as usual, he’s left without knowing what to do. He was sure he would’ve found something to justify what he did but instead? Instead he’s just feeling more awful than before.

The fifth time Harry returns to Malfoy Manor - after the Great Disaster -, he hears the high pitched screams of a familiar voice. And it’s not one of the Malfoys, no. Harry is sure, more than anything in his whole life, that that voice belongs to his godson.

So this means Teddy is inside the Manor. So this means Teddy is inside the Manor and he’s screaming for some reason Harry doesn’t actually know - but paired with the fact that Lucius Malfoy is once again living in the place, he doesn’t have a good feeling about this. Not at all.

And that’s why he sprints towards the sound of the voice, in full Auror mode - and the screams get closer and closer until he can make out what Teddy is saying and finally-

“Draco, no!” Teddy yells, pale blond hair and a huge smile stretching his lips. He’s trying to cover his whole body with just his own hands and Draco-

“Draco yes!” Draco is grinning wildly, trying his best to tickle whatever body part he can reach.

“You are the worst cousin ever!”

“Well, lucky you, I’m also your _only_ cousin,” Draco snickers - Harry has never heard him like this and, honestly, he feels like his heart has stopped functioning correctly -, holding Teddy close to his chest. “So you’re stuck with me.”

“Let me go!” Teddy yells as loud as he can, laughing like a mad man and trying to free himself from Draco’s clutch. “I’ll give you Bob the Lion if you stop!”

“You’d give me Bob the Lion?” Draco softly gasps, feigning surprise and finally stopping with the tickling. “I’m not worthy of Bob the Lion, Edward.”

“My name’s not Edward.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Tedward.”

“Draco!”

“Tedwin?”

“Stop it!”

They both start laughing and Harry has never felt more stupid in his entire life. He’s standing there, lurking in the corner with his wand raised for what? Draco Malfoy playing with his cousin.

And of course it’s in that exact moment that Teddy sees him.

“Harry! Harry come play with us!” the kid yells, completely unfazed by Harry’s stance. No one could say the same about Draco Malfoy though - Harry can pinpoint the precise second when the other man sees him and pales significantly.

There’s no way he didn’t notice what Harry was doing. There’s no way he didn’t see the raised wand and the combat stance. That’s probably why he slowly raises his hands, eyes fixed on Harry, like he’s going to surrender.

“Go join Andromeda in the drawing room, Ted. Harry will be with you in a minute,” Harry can’t even focus on how strange it is to be called by his first name by Draco. Everything that’s happening right now is far more complex than that. Draco looks defeated and tired and even a little bit sad.

“What about you?” Teddy asks with a frown - to which Draco smiles softly, hands still raised up in the air.

“I have something very important to do, we’ll play together another day, I promise.”

As opposed to feeling plain stupid, now Harry feels like an asshole. The realization hits him straight in the chest with the strength of a high speed train. Draco is afraid of him. Draco is afraid of him and he can’t really blame him - not after the stance, the raised wand and everything that happened before that.

When Teddy finally leaves, Draco doesn’t utter a single word. He doesn’t move, doesn’t talk, doesn’t do anything other than looking at Harry straight in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I had no right to barge in here with my wand out.”

“You’re an Auror. I’m guessing you heard Teddy scream and thought we were harming him,” Draco sounds so utterly defeated and Harry doesn’t know anything more than the fact he doesn’t want to hear him like this never again in his whole life. If they’d ask him to choose between this and Draco yelling insults, he’d definitely choose _you’re so bloody stupid, scarhead._

“Yeah, sometimes I can be a tad impulsive.”

“A tad. Would you mind terribly lowering your fucking wand, Potter? I thought we established I wasn’t torturing my cousin.”

“Oh yeah, yeah, of course,” _fucking good move, Potter, amazing move. Forget about the wand you’re pointing at a completely innocent man._

“I know you don’t have any reason to believe me but I would never harm Teddy. Andromeda trusts me. And we wouldn't leave him alone with my father, even though he wouldn’t harm him either.”

“I know, I was just- I wasn’t thinking. I’m too protective of the people I love and I just wasn’t thinking.”

“Yes, well,” Draco sniffs, turning his back to Harry and taking a few steps forward. “As much of a pleasant visit this was, I believe you spent way too much time with me for your liking.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Harry whispers, as calmly as he can, holding on to Draco’s wrist. He can’t let go. This is his one chance to make everything better - as he’s pretty sure Draco won’t give you a second one. Not after everything that happened.

“Well, does it work any better?”

“Ouch,” Harry instantly replies, trying his best to hold Draco right there without getting too imposing. “I mean it. I acted like a complete asshole and I shouldn’t have done that. I liked what- what was happening between us. I liked talking to you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“And you decided you regret what you did in this last five minutes? Though shit, Potter, I don’t trust you. You’ll change your mind again in the next hour. You’ll convince yourself that _you can’t to this anymore_ and then I’ll- then my Mother will suffer once again. Not likely, Potter.”

Draco leaves without saying anything else - and Harry can’t hold him there anymore. It’s not right for him to do that. He fucked up and now he has to give Draco time.

But this doesn’t mean he’ll stop trying.


	3. orangeblossom honey - harry potter falls in love

After the second incident - first the Great Lucius Disaster and then the Great Teddy Misunderstandment; Harry is now starting to think he's going to need a few more names for the foreseeable future -, Draco continues to avoid him.

Harry can't blame him, not really. He knows he fucked up. He's not stubborn enough to think he was right and he certainly doesn't pretend Draco _has_ to talk to him. They both need their time - Harry needed it before and Draco needs it now. He's willing to wait.

(And no, he still doesn't exactly understand why. Maybe it's because he feels like this is the right thing to do, maybe it's because this is what his mother would've want, maybe it's because the war is over and they all need to grow up. It certainly doesn't have anything to do with how Harry felt when he was with Draco those first few times. It certainly doesn't have anything to do with the way he notices every single detail when Draco does _anything. _Of course not.)

Anyway, Draco needs time and Harry is willing to wait.

It turns out, Narcissa Malfoy doesn’t really care.

“It's so good to have you here again so soon, dear,” she smiles like she had nothing to do with why Harry is _here again so soon_. She's the reason why. She invited him. And Harry is willing to bet she's also the reason why Draco is, once again, playing the piano for them. “Isn't this marvelous, Draco? Of course it is, we're thrilled to have you with us.”

Draco doesn't say anything, he just keeps on playing, but Harry can see the way he rolls his eyes and it's really hard to repress a laugh.

“It's good to be here, Narcissa.”

And it is, good. Harry can't even manage to be angry at Narcissa Malfoy, not for this. Not when his first and only thought is that this is, quite frankly, something that Molly Weasley could've pulled. And it's really fucking hilarious.

So they chat and talk and drink tea and eat fancy looking biscuits - while Draco keeps playing and playing and playing. And the exact second Draco stops playing, Narcissa jumps - as elegantly as she can - up from the sofa.

“Oh, silly me! I forgot I have to check on Mipsy. She's our house elf, you see, and she's supposed to cook dinner but I simply _must_ check on her! Draco, please, be a good host and keep Harry some company,” and just like that, she's gone.

There are more than a few moments of awkward silence - moments when Harry can't quite muster the courage to look at Draco in his eyes, moments when Draco seems passionately focused on the piano - and in the end, right when Harry is ready to look like a fool by saying _anything at all_, Draco snorts.

“What she needs to check on, I don't have the slightest idea. Mipsy has cooked every single one of our meals since I was five years old and my mother has no idea how to make a sandwich,” he laughs but there's clearly fondness in his voice. “But sure, she _simply must check on her_!”

Harry can't help but laugh at the way Draco is mimicking his mother's words - and it's amazing, really, it's amazing how any awkwardness disappeared just like that. Draco crosses the room - and Harry just can't look away.

“You mother is a force of nature.”

“That she surely is,” Draco hums as he sits right next to Harry. “And she always gets what she wants.”

“And what do you think she wanted, this time?”

“I'm guessing leaving us alone. She knows we had some sort of... disagreement. And obviously, since you're Saint Potter, she thinks it's my fault.”

Harry finds himself smiling in spite of the nickname - because he can’t find any trace of the old snark in it, there isn't any trace of mocking at all. It feels more and more like a joke between two friends.

“Don't be ridiculous. It's clear that your mother loves you more than anything in the whole world.”

“Yes. She really does,” Draco smiles happily and Harry's heart flutters once again. “But she still thinks it’s my fault. She thinks I was too hard on you.”

“Well… don’t get me wrong, I love the fact that your mother has my back, because the opposite would scare me shitless,” Harry pauses when Draco snorts, glad to hear him laugh. “But I don’t think it was your fault. Or that you’re being too hard on me. I honestly fucked up.”

Draco hums accordingly but Harry can definitely see something in his eyes - something that tells him that Draco is going to listen to what he has to say, something that tells him that maybe Draco isn’t as angry as he was before. So, of course, Harry has to try. He wouldn’t be a Gryffindor if he didn’t.

“I shouldn’t have run away like that and I shouldn’t have told you things I didn’t really believe. And more than anything else I shouldn’t have dismissed what you did with your life in the past five years. It was really awful of me.”

Draco hums again, not bothering to look at Harry. “I guess I just don’t understand what made you suddenly act the way you did. I thought that things were going better between us. I thought since we couldn’t be friends maybe we could at least be civil to each other. So I just don’t understand… what did I do wrong?”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Draco looks at him like he’s not convinced at all, so Harry decides this is a good time as any to let out everything he has inside. Well, almost everything.

“I freaked out. I know you're absolutely gonna judge me about that, but it's the truth. I freaked out. I suddenly realized I was spending a whole lot of my time with you and your mother. Mostly I realized I was enjoying that time with you. And then your mother started talking about your father and it was like I realized only that moment that your father was also Lucius Malfoy. And I started thinking about everything he had done in the past, about how many members of my family he had hurt. And I- I began to wonder _what would they think about this? _Would they hate me because I enjoy spending time with you and your mom?”

Draco doesn't utter a single word - and doesn't look at him, not one single time. Harry isn't really sure he's doing good but being honest is the best thing he could do - so he keeps talking.

“I know it's stupid but I can't really ask my parents what would they think about anything. Or my Godfather. And I guess I thought that my only known family wouldn't have taken well the thing. You know, since there's this dumb feud between your family and the Weasleys. And I panicked. And I ran.”

“You're one weird man, Potter. You didn't freak out in front of the Dark Lord himself but you freaked out because of this?" Harry is fully expecting this to be some sort of a drag, but instead Draco is smiling. "I guess we have more in common than we knew. Every stupid thing I did, I did for my family. The one time you fully freak out, it's because of your family.”

It takes one look for both of them to start laughing - and it's weird and surreal and amazing at the same time.

“I think we could be more than civil to each other,” Harry offers his hand for Draco to shake, and the irony of the gesture doesn't go missing. “I'd like to be your friend, Malfoy.”

“Took you long enough.”

“Yeah. Took you long enough to stop being a stuck up snob.”

“I beg your pardon? I _still_ am a stuck up snob.”

“Seriously, though, I completely understand if you need more time. I'll still come here to take tea with your mother and we'll tell her that we're okay so she doesn't have to go check on Mipsy.”

“If you can look over everything that happened in the past, I guess I can look over the One Time Harry Potter Freaked Out.”

“Come on, it's not the first time.”

“No, but it's the first time you freaked out because of me.”

The second time they see each other, after that feeble reconciliation, Draco Malfoy is riding the already mentioned big, inflatable neon pink flamingo filled with glitter.

And that alone is the weirdest sentence Harry has ever thought of.

But seeing with his own two eyes Draco Malfoy - riding a big, neon pink inflatable flamingo filled with glitter in a huge pool, wearing only a small swimsuit and a pair of floral sunglasses? That is a complete different thing altogether. Weird doesn't even begin to cover what Harry is feeling.

(Aroused, however, has a nice ring to it.)

“Uhm,” he tries to say something, _anything, _but the only thing that manages to escape his throat is some kind of pathetic, strangled noise. There's no way that those legs are human. No way. The way Malfoy is stretching like a fucking _cat_ is driving Harry completely mad. And he's been there for less than two minutes. Fuck.

“Potter. Did my mother send you?” Draco asks lightly, sipping on his colorful drink - and, seriously? A bright pink drink with a bright pink straw and a paper umbrella? Who _does_ that? It's way easier to focus on the fun part of what he's witnessing - judging by how tight his pants suddenly are, the fun part is harmless. The part where he wants nothing more than fuck Draco on that particular pink flamingo is really, really dangerous.

And it's a damn shame Harry has never been too good withthe _avoiding dangerous situations thing_

“Sort of. We were having the usual tea and she said she wanted to make sure you hadn’t drowned.”

“Well, as you see I’m perfectly fine.”

“Yes you are. I mean, yes, you're fine. I mean, you're okay. You're not dead. Not yet,” Harry decides to shut his mouth before he can say anything more stupid than what he already said. Why does he always have to look so dumb in front of Draco Malfoy, that he'll never understand. It's been going on since the first year at Hogwarts and it has never stopped.

“... Is that a threat, Potter?” Draco is almost snickering, by now, and Harry has to admit this is a nice alternative from their school day. It doesn't sound like he's making fun of him. It sounds more like banter between friends. And Harry really likes it.

“If I had any doubts about your sexuality-”

“If you had any doubts about my sexuality you haven't paid enough attention in school. Like, at all. My sexuality was the least best kept secret of the whole castle.”

“Trust me, I paid way too much attention to you.”

There's an awkward silence after those words and, as usual, Harry would really fucking love to own a time-turner to go back in time and kick his past-self ass. The fact is, he doesn't have one. And, even if he did, Hermione would probably keep it. So the best he can do is try to survive his mouth’s attempts to make him the dumbest person alive.

“What would you say if I told you I have a very important question for you?”

“I'd say: well, let's hear what the very important question is.”

“Has your father already see you like this? I mean like pool and inflatable giant flamingo and everything else.”

“Well I sure fucking hope so,” Draco laughs - and it's the best sound in the whole world - taking another sip of his drink. The pink flamingo glitters in the sun and the reflection makes Draco's hair shine even more. “I'm not sure he ever got the _your son is the worst possible kind of gay_ memo so I've been trying to convey the message in other ways. Less subtle ways.”

“Oh, you mean like the pink flamingo you're riding?”

“… I mean, he could see me riding worse things. I'd say I'm going easy on him.”

Harry almost chokes on thin air and Draco laughs again. Suddenly Harry realizes exactly why Malfoy's laugh is making him feel so good. It sounds so _free _it's almost scary. Draco has never sounded free. It's new and exciting and Harry is sure - more than anything in his life - that Draco is feeling like he's feeling. It shows in his eyes.

“But I'll have you know I'm not doing this only to rile up my father. I mean, it's a pretty big reason, don't get me wrong. Lately I've been doing a lot of things to rile him up. The closest thing I'll manage to a revenge, I guess. It's kinda petty but fun, nonetheless.”

“And what are the other reasons?”

“It's _fun_. I've always wanted a pool, you know? I spend a lot of time in my potions lab and since I'm not a vampire I still enjoy my fair share of sun. And how to better enjoy it than floating in a pool on the gayest thing I could buy?”

“Fair enough," Harry flashes his brightest smile. "Mind if I join you?”

“No, Potter, you can’t," Draco suddenly sounds so serious Harry is afraid he said something he shouldn't have - then he notices Draco's smirk and the glint in his eyes. “This flamingo isn't big enough for the both of us.”

“Well, I imagine you can conjure something equally gay and obnoxious.”

“It'll absolutely be my pleasure,” Draco smiles once again and Harry decides that's the perfect moment to throw himself into the water, making an absolute mess of the pool side, his clothes and, of course, Draco.

Malfoy doesn't utter a single word for a few seconds - but if looks could kill, Harry would've been already dead. When he finally talks, he sounds almost as terrifying as his mother.

“Well, now I just have to kill you. I'll send a note to the Auror department, tell them how sorry I am that I had to orchestrate your demise.”

They're both laughing like kids and there's something, right there in Harry's chest, that speaks of hope and love and future. When he doesn't think about it, he's almost not afraid of it.

The third time they see each other, Harry has something to ask. Narcissa assured him everything would be okay but Harry can’t be certain. It’s difficult, more difficult than anything else he has ever done, more difficult than anything he’ll ever have to do.

(Not a single one of the Voldemort related encounter has ever scared him so. Not even Voldemort himself. Nothing compares to the task ahead.)

“I’m in extreme need of your help, Malfoy,” he blurts out as soon as he sees Draco, trying to get everything off his chest as fast as possibile. The sooner he asks, the sooner it’ll all be over.

“Uh, that sounded _so_ good. Say it again. Let me focus so I can relive the memory in a pensieve for the rest of my life.”

Draco is sketching something on a loose piece of paper, leaning on a very comfortable looking couch. He looks like the very picture of relax. He also looks straight out of Harry’s latest dream - and that’s a whole other thing.

“Very funny. I need your help. _Please_.”

“You need my help with what, exactly? Need to find some sense in the nest you have on your head?”

“Close enough, but I doubt even you would manage to help me with the hair. No, I need help with clothes.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Draco deadpans.

“Have anyone ever told you that you’re rude as fuck?”

“Honestly? No, I’m mostly only rude towards you.”

“That's very nice to know. Anyway. The Minister… suggested that I wear something other than my Auror uniform for the next big event,” Harry tries his best to ignore the _it’s about damn time _he hears coming from Draco’s mouth. “And I don’t- I mean, I don’t really have any experience in the _fancy clothes_ department.”

“While I wholeheartedly agree, that's not completely true. The robe you wore during the Yule Ball was lovel- I mean. Nice enough. Pretty decent.”

“I didn’t choose it, though.”

“What? You- oh, well. That explains why it was lovely.”

“Thanks. Again.”

“Never fear, Potter, I’ll help you find some decent clothes. And I won’t even require payment, I’ll have you know. I’m doing this pro bono. You’re my charity case of the month.”

“You’re never going to let this go, are you.”

“Never.”

And that is how Harry Potter find himself shopping in the company of Draco Malfoy - something Rita Skeeter would pay Hagrid’s weight in gold to be able to report. Luckily enough, they both agreed to cast some minor glamours and everything should be okay. At least Harry hopes so.

Apparently Draco is on a roll, because after the whole trip to Diagon Alley, Harry is now forced to shop in twenty five different muggle shops while Draco rebuilds his wardrobe from scratch.

“Are you sure you're okay with this?” Draco at least has the decency to ask - and fuck, Harry is okay with this. Completely okay. One hundred percent okay.

Draco is surprisingly nice the whole time - albeit the occasional snarky comment: he doesn’t berate Harry when it’s clear he has zero knowledge of the fashion lingo, he doesn’t try and force him to wear something Harry would never wear.

Quite the contrary, really. Draco makes sure everything Harry’s trying is also comfortable and very much something Harry could like. Even when he gives him something he has never wore before, Harry doesn’t feel out of place.

“You could do this as a job, you know,” he whispers almost reverently, watching his own reflection in the mirror. He has never looked so good and he honestly wants to look like this for the rest of his damned life.

“Oh, this would most definitely give my father an aneurism. Draco Lucius Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune: personal shopper.”

“Well, I don’t care what your father thinks, you did an amazing job. I’m glad you accepted me as your monthly charity case.”

Draco doesn’t answer, too busy trying to decide between two ties Harry thinks are absolutely identical, but Harry takes that small smile as a victory.

“Let me buy you lunch,” he blurts out before he can think properly, blushing slightly when Draco looks at him pointedly.

“You don’t have to.”

“No, I know I don’t have to. But I want to.”

“Well, then,” Draco sniffs, trying (and failing) to hide another smile. Harry’s counting them. “I shall warn you my tastes are quite expensive.”

“It’s a good thing I can afford you, then,” he replies quickly, One look at Draco’s slightly wider eyes and he realizes that what he just said sounded an awful lot like flirting.

_And what if it is, flirting? Would that be so bad?_ The voice in his head - the one that usually spends most of the time talking about how handsome Draco is - doesn’t stop suggesting that, and Harry has no idea what to do or what to think.

Having lunch with Draco, alone, is better than he expected.

The fourth time they see each other, Harry is drinking with the whole lot of his friends and Draco walks into the Leaky Cauldron with his own clique.

(To be fair, Harry shouldn’t call it a clique anymore. It’s just that they look so much like a clique, it’s difficult to drop the habit. He wouldn’t be surprised to see them sport the same leather jacket with something Slytherin related embedded on their backs.)

They end up sitting at the same table, still divided between two distinct groups. Not that Harry’s paying attention to something else than the way Draco is sipping on his drink.

“So, it turns out Davis’ sister was shocked to hear her brother’s gay,” Pansy Parkinson is whispering really loudly with the voice everybody knows as _I’ve got some juice gossip tidbits and I’m going to share them with you wheter you like it or not_. “And I was like, damn girl, he was a Slytherin, of course he’s not straight.”

The whole Slytherin part of the table starts snickering and that’s the exact moment Seamus decides to intervene. Loudly.

“You mean to tell me there isn’t a single straight person in the whole Slytherin house? Come on Parkinson, that’s impossible and you know it!”

“No, that’s absolutely true. First Slytherin’s rule: no one is straight.” Zabini replies in a heartbeat, immediately followed by Parkinson. “I was thinking about girls, when I was sorted. How about you guys?”

“Boys,” both Nott and Draco reply at unison, highfiving each other with a grin.

“Both,” the two Greengrass sisters and Zabini add, less than a heartbeat later.

“Apparently straight people are only to be found in Gryffindor,” Ron mutters, face half buried in his chips.

“Speak for yourself,” Hermione blurts out and every single person turns to look at her. She blushes slightly and glances quickly towards Ron before talking again. “I mean. I love Ron and everything but-”

“The beauty of the female flower doesn’t go wasted on you?”

“You’re partial to the sapphic shores?”

“Your door swings both ways like an old saloon doors?”

“You’re all for equal opportunity in the bedroom?”

“And outside the bedroom,” Hermione replies without even thinking, right before blushing even harder than before. The Slytherin part of the table erupts in screams while Nott proposes to make Hermione an honorary snake.

Harry doesn’t quite know what to think, let alone what to say. He has never even consider the possibility that one of his friends could be queer. Let alone Hermione, who clearly always had a thing for Ron. He has never even consider the possibility that one of his friends could be queer _too_. And the way Hermione just came out to their whole group of friends without even thinking?

She has always been braver than him, that’s for sure.

“You okay, Weasley?” someone asks and Harry finds himself listening closely for the answer. Is Ron okay? If he’s okay with his girlfriend being bisexual, he would be okay with Harry too, wouldn’t he?

There’s a moment of awkward silence while Ron glances between Hermione and the rest of the table. Then he shrugs.

“Why shouldn’t I be? She loves me. Too late for everybody else, boys and girls. Hah,” and that particular response is rewarded by Hermione’s laugh and an embarrassing amount of kissing.

“So, the whole Slytherin house is gay,” Dean repeats like he’s looking for confirmation. “I have a question but I want assurance I won’t be exed.”

“No deal. Depends on the question.”

“… Did you folks only date each other?”

“For Merlin’s sake, Thomas, we were most definitely not the only gays in school,” Parkinson huffs and rolls her eyes - and to be honest, that was kind of a stupid question, Harry has to admit.

Draco snorts and takes another sips of his drink. “Quite the contrary, in fact.”

“Yes, Draco can confirm this. After all he has slept with pretty much every-”

“Pansy Parkinson I will forcibly shut your mouth if you don’t stop right now.”

“Gay or bisexual guy in school.”

Draco opens his mouth, most likely to curse the girl, but Zabini and Nott exchange a dangerous look and stop him before he can say anything.

“What does she mean, Draco? I thought I was your first and only one!” Zabini gasps, feigning indignation. And he does a good job at it, really. “How could you do this to me?”

“_I_ thought I was your one and only!” Nott exclaims, taking Draco’s hand in a dramatic gesture. “Everything we’ve shared, all the placed I’ve fucked you- and it all meant nothing!”

“And you’ve fucked guys of other houses? How could you? Were they Ravenclaws? I bet they were!”

“I fucking hate you both,” Draco deadpans, freeing his hand and basically drowning in his drink. The Slytherins are all laughing - and half of Harry’s side of the table is laughing too.

The voice in Harry’s head, though, is not laughing at all.

The fifth time they see each other, Harry falls completely and utterly in love. In retrospective he should’ve known that he had a huge weakness with kids and family and everything like that.

In retrospective he should’ve known that. He really should’ve. It makes sense that family is his greatest weakness - and strength, yes, of course, but this is most definitely not the moment for an Albus Dumbledore pep talk.

It makes sense that seeing the guy he has a small crush on - _small, what you feel for him is anything but small, Harry - _with a child couldn’t be of any help at all. It makes absolutely perfect sense. The thing screamed _danger_ from every direction.

But, once again, one could say Harry has never been too good with the whole staying away from danger thing. And the thought of missing Draco and Teddy trip to the zoo together was absolutely ridiculous. Harry would’ve crossed the Forbidden Forest thrice to be able to be there.

“Have you ever been to the zoo, Harry?”

“Just once, actually.”

“Only one time? We should come again and again and again!”

“Let’s start with this one trip, okay buddy?”

“What’s your favorite animal, Draco?” Teddy asks, holding his cousin’s hand in one and Harry’s hand in the other.

“I’m contractually obliged to answer _snakes_ but I guess other animals are pretty cool too.”

“Like what, like what?”

“I like sea animals. Like sharks and whales and seals.”

“Seals are cute. Sharks are scary.”

“They’re misunderstood. They’re not scarier than, I don’t know, lions or tigers. And they’re beautiful.”

They go on talking about animals for hours and Harry couldn’t be happier. Everything in this particular day feels like perfection. The ice cream they get for Teddy and for themselves feels like perfection. The homemade sandwiches they eat for lunch while they watch penguins feel like perfection. The way Teddy smiles the whole time feels like perfection.

Everything Draco does and says feels like perfection. The way he talks with Teddy - like he’s one of his peers and not a five years old -, the way it’s clear he can’t say no to anything Teddy asks. The way his eyes light up when they get to see seals swimming underwater feels like perfection. The smile Draco gifts him whenever Harry says something smart or does something nice feels like perfection.

_I want this, _he thinks suddenly, and it’s in that precise moment Harry knows he’s completely and utterly fucked.


End file.
